Story of Goliathus
by Ami Quinton26
Summary: A deeper insight into Goliathus' past, something I wrote before Soulchanging when the ideas were new. Oneshot.


Story of Goliathus

_I decided to share this with all of you as I feel it will make the other stories I have written "come alive" more. You see, I wrote this before "Soulchanging" really started...I had all the ideas but they came down in this sort of excuse just to get all the ideas down._

_You will notice that some things here are different then in the actual stories. For instance Goliathus never knew Maniel, but here he did for a short time. Ami had met Goliathus during a camping trip in the stories, but here she grows up seeing him in the barn, and plots her plan in a different manner, but he still ends up at the Facility. I also think it describes the year of torture in more detail and brings it even further to life._

_I warn you, it may be disturbing. But I wrote it because the question plagued my mind..."Just HOW did the Creeper get to be so evil?" There had to be events which caused him to become the scary being that he did. In "Goliathus Chronicles", you will find out just how horrible it is, though it is not Goliathus who truly led his Dark Age of Death, but something far more terrifying._

(_Please take note, my facts may not be accurate...such as the time when the Dark Ages started. I am taking many liberties._)

/

Long ago, back in a time before modern marvels and even cultured society, there was one thing that remained the same. War. This war was unlike any other, however, as it deemed with supernatural forces that were far more obvious then they are today.

During the time called the "Dark Ages", there where famine and plagues that tore through the heart of many villages. These people struggled just to survive, having no heating to warm them in winter, nor air conditioning in the suffering heat of the summertime. If there was a drought and crops dried out, then people would starve. If a disease affected one it would affect many, for sanitation and quarantine where not things these people knew or understood. To them, for the crops to dry and disease to spread was the cause of evil forces...whether they be witches, warlocks, demons, or the like. If a child died in its crib...then perhaps a sneaky black cat, an accomplice to a witch, had crept in and stolen its breath away.

If someone was found drained of blood...why this was certainly the work of the devil.

Well, in some ways these people were right. Though truly evil, these were no demons. They were beings called vampires...human-like creatures that fed off of human blood to survive. But it was not just a survival tactic. It was also the sheer evil joy of the kill. To cause pain to the innocent. To simply thrill at being stronger then others.

There was, in this dark era, a group of humans who called themselves mages...they had learned the art of magic, and were some of the last to exist. Though it was tricky and dangerous at best, they could conjure spells and provide means to ward off the vampires set on slaughtering humans. The very last of the High Mages, leaders who guided the others, was a tall, dark-haired man of elusiveness known as Maniel. He had become stronger then most, learning secrets others hadn't. One day Maniel called upon his love Annabelle, a regular mortal woman, petite but elegant, and with hair like waving fire. He needed her assistance (for she did what she could for him) in creating a new weapon against the vampires. All kinds of spells and tricks had been used, but all had failed in the end. It was time for a new approach. However this would be the most difficult magic of all.

Using the magic to create beings by combining existing creatures was an art called "Metamorphose", and no mage had yet to master it. Simple things like blending a bird and a mouse had worked in the past with relative ease once the practice was learned, but the odd combinations had never survived for long. Maniel, however, had created a small group of spies they had already been using, a type of dragon-like little creature that was a combination of bird, reptile, and dog. These had survived for quite some years before expiring. Others were amazed by Maniel's accomplishment.

Finally Maniel had come to a decision. He would use this magic in a new way, to try and create a being that could actually _overpower_ the vampires...having more strength, more speed, more stealth, and more acute senses then even they. But it would take much energy, much time, and more resources then Maniel had. He envisioned a whole clan of these beings, but that would have to wait. For now, the simple experiment would begin.

Maniel, before taking Annabelle, had tried before to create his vampire killer, but the creatures had not survived. Some had died early, some fell apart upon being born, and some were too wild and uncontrollable. Maniel soon learned that this new warrior needed to have human traits , to be instilled with a sense of reason and complexity.

This being he had metamorphosed was a combination of bat, reptile, hawk...and human. The human part was small however. Maniel used only a small amount of his own blood to provide the genetic codes he would need for human intelligence. Though I can explain this no further, as it is complicated magic and the knowledge of it is very little nowadays, I can tell you that it did finally work, at last, in the end.

Annabelle was the mother. Somehow Maniel put all of the spell into a primordial sort of mixture, using mainly the blood of all the creatures, to impregnate her. The magic itself ensured the spell would "hold" and that the "child" would not miscarry. The powerful mage had decided to do it in this way so that he could ensure the survival of the being. He had no idea just how well it would work.

In only five short months, Annabelle went into labor, and the child was born among the mages...a secretive event kept from the eyes of others in a hidden labyrinth. At first Maniel was not sure Annabelle should see what she had produced...but she insisted.

The child had a human shape, but was anything but. Large bat-like wings were wrapped tightly around its grey-skinned body. When its eyes opened one could see the slits like a lizard, when it yawned teeth like razor sharp pin needles were exposed. Small spines protruded around the shoulders and even some on the face and head, more traits from the reptile. It seemed to be very aware of its surroundings, sniffing the air every so often. This sense of smell would be its most powerful trait, so that it could find a vampire among anything or anyone, even from miles away.

Maniel called the metamorphosed being a heradus. It was a term that meant "creature of hunger", and its appearance was much like the legend of something similar. It was really a type of gargoyle, in all respects.

Annabelle cared for her most unusual offspring in great secrecy. He was not to be discovered by any means, for the fearful humans of the village would certainly think the devil had come to visit their homeland...and of course the vampires could not get wind of the situation before it was ready to be unleashed upon them.

Surprisingly, Annabelle loved the child like any other. She had never been able to have children of her own, and so, bizarre as he was, her little son was as precious to her as any normal child. He had no name for several months, until at last Maniel had one day mentioned in general conversation that once this creature was ready, it would be like an immense force the vampires could do nothing against...a Goliath to overpower them.

Annabelle liked the word...and simply changed it to Goliathus to be unique. It stuck, and so became his name.

As time passed, quite early on, Annabelle grew fearful of her "unique" son's appetite, of all things. In the beginning he seemed content with what Maniel brought him...meats ground down into a fine pulpy mass...but as he grew and was switched over to just raw pieces butchered from the herd animals...his appetite seemed to get stronger and stronger. Annabelle pressed Maniel for why this was so. Her child had begun screaming as if he had never been fed. She continued to press him, until Maniel admitted that it was the necessary "weak" point.

He did not want the heradus to be weak in his senses, for these were necessary indeed. The magic can be used to enhance anything, but there must be a weakness, so is the way and law of things. But Maniel needed the strength, so he could not make it weaker. He needed the speed, so he could not make it slower. He needed the sight, so he could not make it poor of vision. He needed the hearing, so he could not make it with only the hearing of humans. He needed the sense of smell above all...so in some other way he had to give the creature a weakness. This ended up being something that was the cause of such high abilities to begin with. Such energy expelled for a strong, supernatural body required food, and lots of it. So therefore...hunger was his weakness.

Annabelle was unsure how to deal with the situation...but somehow it was managed, though her poor child always lived with a hunger that would not cease, and so therefore he became irritable and short-tempered.

Still, despite that, Goliathus grew to the status of an adolescent within only five years, and at this age Maniel decided he would be ready to start his "training" as a vampire hunter. The gargoyle child had, after all, been given an array of predatory features, both physical and sensory, to take them down.

As an added bonus, Goliathus seemed to have an artistic talent from the moment he understood the use of a writing tool. This grew to even craftmanship, and he began to design his own weapons. Maniel only encouraged this and revealed to him that iron would be the best medium to use, as iron greatly weakened vampires.

Unfortunately, Goliathus would never get around to destroying his first vampire. And, in fact, he would be rendered quite harshly from his curious existance with his caregivers into a horrifying, awful existance ruled by forces even darker then the age he lived in.

It all started when he was discovered. Goliathus was too curious, and ventured outside to watch the humans when he should not have. Though he could fly and was good at hiding, he kept trying to get closer and closer to observe them, until one day he was spotted on a high roof, crouching in the shadows.

The immediate reaction was chaotic. The people went into a frenzy, a myriad of fear-driven scents filled the air and confused the heradus. He flew away to seek refuge with his mother, a fatal move indeed. Many saw where he went, and they called for their elders to do something. They believed that Annabelle was a horrible witch, and had summoned the "demon" from hell. When they discovered that she had been with Maniel they feared even worse, for they believed Maniel was for certain an evil warlock.

They raided the house, hundreds of them armed with torches and weapons, and took Annabelle, carrying her off to be burned at the stake. They swarmed Goliathus and took him too, using ropes and chains to hold him as they dragged him to a dungeon. The heradus was too confused and uncertain, so he did little to resist. He did not understand their fear, for he had never sensed fear from Maniel or Annabelle, or any of the other mages who worked with him.

Goliathus sat in the corner of a small, cold dungeon, wondering what was going on. The humans had put him there then stormed off, screaming something about "burning the witch". Later on, all the heradus could hear through his stone walls was the agonizing screams of his mother in the distance...he knew it was her...and smelled the intense scents of smoke, wood, and burning flesh. This greatly upset him, and he yelled for her, but no answer ever came.

Then there was silence.

And nothing but silence.

By the next day, the hunger had already grown extreme. Though Goliathus paced and wailed, scratching at his iron barred door and digging his talons into the ground in protest, no one came to feed him. Not that day, or the next, or the day after that. Eventually, the hunger became a searing pain that spread throughout his whole midsection, and his body began to wither, slowly like a dying flower. He began to eat the dry, caked dirt of his dungeon floor in desperation, even tried to chew the iron bars. This did nothing but seem to irritate his hunger further. Though he wailed and screamed, for the pain had become unbearable, still no one came.

Weeks passed, and eventually, he became quite weak and unable to scream any further. Just when he figured he would simply rot to nothing in that dungeon...he heard footsteps coming to his prison one cold, lonely night.

He did not recognize the man who entered, nor the other four who followed behind him. They were all dressed in strange, dark robes, and chanting things at him he did not understand. They made signs at him that were only confusing, but he could smell their apprehension. Eventually, one took his chains, unlocked them from the wall, and all of them helped in dragging the deathly gaunt creature to his feet, forcing him to follow them.

Goliathus at first thought maybe they were going to help him. He hoped they were friends of even other mages under Maniel. Perhaps they _were_ mages, though they didn't smell like anything but normal humans. They led him outside, and for the first time in a long time he smelled fresh air...mingled with the overpowering scents of water troughs and the animals.

Animals.

This caused him to nearly drool, and for the first time he resisted. He made a rather pitiful sound of protest, for his voice had grown quite weak, and wanted to head in the direction of those animals. He tried pulling against his chain even more when he saw in the distance a farmer pulling along two cows. The urge to eat was overwhelming, incredible. He had no control at this point, and it was something he had little control over to begin with. Strength seemed to come from nowhere, and he pulled even harder on his chains, struggling to get free. The men retaliated, unleashing whips from their belts, and they lashed out at him. Surprise washed over Goliathus at the stinging pain from the whips, he turned to face them in utter confusion. Why were they doing this? He only wanted a little food...

The men yelled and kept lashing out, until the heradus relented and fell back in line. This time he was dragged with much more rough force then before.

They ended up at a church. It was the only one in the village, and rather large for such a poor town. Filled with utter exhaustion, and occasionally blacking out from the pain and hunger, Goliathus could do nothing any longer to resist. He still kept a hope in his heart that he was going to be helped, but some part of him knew that this would not be so.

The five men kept dragging him (and truly they were, for he could barely move his feet anymore) until they came inside the building and walked down a large spiral staircase into a huge stone basement. There was only a large table there, and assorted objects the heradus did not recognize...other then being perhaps some sort of metal weapons such as like the ones he crafted.

Much to his dismay, the five men tied him then to the table. They used heavy chains to weigh him down, and the ropes were tied over and over. It seemed they were not going to take any chances, despite his miserable state.

And it seemed this was not going to be help in any form.

The five men stepped back, just as more men came down the stairs. They were all dressed in the same strange robes except one...he was a rather plump man with a balding head, and he wore royal purple and a giant cross around his neck. He certainly seemed important. Was he a High mage of sorts? (For Goliathus knew not of any sort of leader otherwise.) This one started to say things as did the others, things in Latin...he could only pick up a few words as he had yet to study the language. But it made no sense.

The room was now filled with 23 men including the Bishop. Goliathus kept glancing at them all, wondering what was going on. They seemed nervous, but also full of a hatred that he truly could not understand. What had he done to them to make them feel this way?

Then, one man stepped forward, the same scent that had been the first to walk into his previous dungeon, and pulled back his hood. Cold, narrowed eyes stared back at the creature under a mass of curly dark hair. It was a malice that made Goliathus twitch. This one intended harm, that he knew from the very moment their eyes met. Then the others removed their hoods, and all of them expressed the same intent look. Something was very wrong.

Worried, Goliathus tried pleading with them. He had not spoken very much at all, since he had the telepathic ability to communicate and was quite used to it, but since these men did not seem to hear his mental voice, he really had no choice. Though raspy and rough-sounding, the words were there. All of the men's eyes widened in surprise, some even stepped back at hearing him speak.

They seemed even more afraid, so much so that the creature was silenced. Why should they be afraid that he would talk to them? Now he was even more confused then ever.

Then the blue-eyed one stepped closer, holding what looked like a small iron hammer of sorts, and a square piece of copper.

"Speak no evil," he said...and placed the piece of copper over Goliathus' mouth, then using the hammer, grabbed some nails and drove them into the copper. The amount of pain he felt was indescribable. The horror did not cease until four nails had been driven in, and the metal plate was secured.

The creature tried to move but could not, as the chains held him fast, and a wild look surfaced in his eyes. What was going on?

"Hear no evil..." It was not over with that. Taking a small iron rod with a sharp point, the man drove it into Goliathus' right ear. His whole head felt like it would split open, and perhaps some of it did, as the iron rod was struck again, and it was left buried in his skull.

Having no time to even begin to get his senses together, the man then said

"See no evil... " and using another iron rod, drove it through his left eye.

Goliathus began to scream, for unlike a person he could not be killed, only black out from time to time, then reawaken. He felt everything, and would keep feeling everything no matter what they did to him. Because his mouth was covered with the copper plate, however, it was just a muffled sound.

Finally the man stepped back, and though in incredible pain unlike anything he had felt before, Goliathus felt a twinge of relief.

The men then began talking, getting into a tight group. With his one good ear and eye, he could watch and hear them, but make out little of what they were saying.

He did hear "Demon!" "We must destroy it!", and other such things, but it made little sense to him. He knew what demons were supposed to be, but why would they think he was one? Annabelle had never said that to him...not even Maniel...

There was little time left for thinking. The men took him off the table and now hung him up against the far wall, where again they carefully chained and roped him. It was a very uncomfortable position, the table had been luxurious compared to this. In severe pain, weakened to no end, and with a hunger that still gnawed at his middle, Goliathus again tried pleading for mercy. Though he had only one good eye now, he tried to convey his emotions best he could to them. The men seemed to notice his pleading, but their eyes would only narrow and the smell of hatred only grew worse.

The Bishop nodded to the curly dark-haired man he finally called by a name, John. Then he walked up the stairs and left, as did most of the others.

Another man with black hair, much shorter, stayed behind, as did John and one other. Just the three of them.

These three would be the cause of the first time Goliathus knew true fear of his own.

John spoke to the shorter man, calling him Moren. The other, called Jacob, seemed to be very nervous and had little interest in joining the other two, so he lingered in the background. Moren came forward, coming very close to the heradus' face. Wide, confused eyes filled with pain stared back at him. Moren then reached up, and started to pull the nails out of the copper plate. This hurt, but Goliathus was glad this was being removed. The rods were then removed as well.

"Well, we must hear your voice, must we not?" The words that came from Moren seemed honey sweet but cold as ice at the same time.

Was this odd little man going to help him, show some amount of mercy? He already had, by removing the agonizing objects, so now there was a bit of hope to be felt.

The next event triggered even more hope.

"Jacob...why not go and fetch that bucket? Our...friend...here seems rather gaunt indeed."

Jacob said nothing, only stared at Moren for several moments, then headed up the spiral stone staircase.

John only looked on, in fact he seated himself and seemed only interested in watching whatever events were unfolding. Suddenly it seemed Moren was the leader here.

Moments later, Goliathus caught scent of something utterly intoxicating, and watched as Jacob returned, indeed carrying a bucket. The heradus fidgeted, whimpered, tried to get closer in vain.

"Ah yes, bring it here." Moren instructed, and reluctantly the boy complied. The bucket was brought close enough that Goliathus could see freshly butchered meat inside. It was enough to drive him insane. His increased anxiousness just made Moren grin.

"You are quite starved, I would imagine?"

The fevered nod said all.

"Well then." He looked at Jacob. "So feed him." He pointed to a sharpened stick leaning against the wall.

Again Jacob seemed quite unwilling but took the stick in hand. He then jabbed a piece of meat with it and brought it up to the creature's head. In a movement so fast it seemed like a magic trick, the meat was gone. Goliathus struggled hopelessly against the chains, more from wanting to grab the bucket and wolf down its contents then to actually get free.

"Well, do not keep him waiting, Jacob."

The boy continued the process. Each delicious morsel was enough to fight the pain from the wounds back, to calm his senses, to have a small amount of strength returned.

Was this a friend? Perhaps they were all friends. Maybe the others meant harm, but these intended otherwise? He was so confused, but hopeful.

When it was gone, it was like a quick drink of water in the dry desert. Hardly enough. A sort of whining wail of protest filled the room. He begged for more.

"Hm. Perhaps later. Perhaps later." Moren shooed the boy away and walked over to the table, where other very sharp objects lay. Goliathus watched him, growing worried. He was soon to learn that all and _any_ of his hopes were going to be severely dashed.

Moren turned back to him, holding something very small and sharp. After a few moments Goliathus realized he recognized it... a needle. The same kinds of needles humans used to make the clothing they wore.

Moren drew closer, in fact he grabbed a chair and stood on it so that he could be face to face with the creature.

"Now this will hurt terribly, I am afraid. But then again, you are quite deserving of it. Who knows how many _children_ you have eaten..." Just as Goliathus began to wonder what the man was talking about, the needle was jabbed into his one good eye. The pain was intense. Then it happened again, and yet again...until Moren was just jabbing his eye without mercy. Unearthly wails filled the room. John and Jacob did nothing but watch, though John at one point simply said something about how this was fitting punishment, as he called it.

Then Moren moved to other sensitive areas like his fingertips, belly, and even his groin. No matter how much Goliathus screamed and pleaded, he was ignored.

Then John came forward, grabbing his own needles, and he joined in. Jacob, still seeming hesitant, lingered behind.

But for hours the torture continued, until Goliathus' throat was so raw from screaming that it bled.

At long last the men seemed to tire. They finally stopped, and after pulling the hoods back over their heads simply left. The torches were blown out and Goliathus was left in the dark, damp basement...in agony and chained to a wall.

He could not even sleep.

For days on end the tortures continued. Moren and John would always be part of it, but the others joined them here and there. Goliathus had horrible things done to him. Sometimes Moren would shove an iron pipe down his throat, and pour in substances like mud, saying this was all he deserved to eat. In fact one time he poured in so much that the creature's belly literally burst, spilling the mud onto the floor. Moren would just rather nonchalantly sew it back up, then repeat the torture. Sometimes he used water, but it would be boiling hot. Other times coals still sparking with embers were crumbled up and forced down. Whatever Moren could think of, they tried.

One time Moren tried rotten meat, so putrid it was black and stunk worse than dead animals, but it had no effect on Goliathus other then tasting horrible. Moren learned he could not make the creature sick in this fashion, but he was not all that surprised. He would say things like "See what the demon can survive? This only proves his evil!"

Every so often, Goliathus' tortures came to a halt, and he would really be fed like that same time with Jacob. He learned not too soon after that this was just part of Moren's sick and twisted plan, to bring his health back up, then beat him down again with more agony.

It went on, and on , and on. Goliathus, in utter despair and confusion, for he _still_ did not understand why the humans thought so badly of him, cried out for Annabelle, or his master. But nothing ever answered him. He began to truly lose hope, and feared the torture would last forever. Was this to be his existance? Chained to a wall and tortured mercilessly by the very beings who had made him in the first place? Real sadness plagued his heart. He just could not _understand_.

There was one small shining light during this 365 days of endless pain. He had no idea what day it was, for he lost count somewhere in the middle, but one night a woman came down with the Bishop. She immediately captivated Goliathus by the look in her eyes...captivated in a way that told him she was _not_ full of hatred. Rather he smelled timid fear and pity from her. He could sense it as well.

The Bishop began doing his usual chants, which did nothing but irritate Goliathus for he grew tired of hearing them. The woman reminded him of Annabelle. The look in her eyes was such a change from the usual hatred and malicious intent the men gave him that he felt compelled to plead with her. Though he could talk but in barely a whisper, he tried best as he could manage.

"Help...me..."

The woman's gaze widened, and her eyes seemed to grow moist. It was as if somehow...she just knew this wasn't right. Maybe part of her feared he was a demon, but alas, another part of her was skeptical. Goliathus knew it was this thing called "intuition". Annabelle would smile and tell him of a woman's intuition, when he would question her as to how she seemed to know how he was feeling all the time.

The woman was quite afraid, and she hesitated to answer. She looked behind her at the Bishop, but for the time being he was busy studying something in a large leather-bound book.

"I...cannot..." She too spoke in a whisper, but Goliathus knew she did not want the Bishop to hear her.

For the time being, all he could think of asking her was for some water. His throat was terribly raw and sore from the iron pipe and his screams.

The lady hesitated for a long while, and Goliathus fidgeted with a whimper. Finally, she moved, very slowly and quietly, to a tub filled with water that the men used. She took an iron ladle of sorts and brought some water to him. He gulped it down quickly and the cooling effect it had was one small moment of a sensation that was finally something other then pain. The woman without prompting went to get more. She suceeded a second time, and more cool water eased his pain. Again, without prompting, the woman then saw the bucket they used for the meat. She grabbed this and went to him quickly. Goliathus could have set upon this woman and licked her all over for nothing but sheer pleasure for this gesture. His loins did have a strange ache, as if he wanted to ravage her, but it was not a violent sense. He did not understand, actually, what that feeling was, but it was sudden and short-lived, for hunger and his pain certainly ruled out in the end. The woman almost got the first piece of meat to his lips, but then the Bishop saw her.

"MAY!" He stormed over, taking her by the arms and chiding her to no end. "What are you doing? Do you want that beast to take your hand off?" He went on for several moments, while May turned her head away as if in shame. Goliathus felt anger. He wanted to kill this man. He was surprised at the feeling, for the first time in his life he wanted to kill a human. But he didn't fight it. Yes he wanted him dead. How could he be so cruel to this woman who was being kind to him?

The Bishop jerked the woman away, leading her upstairs and still yelling at her until finally he heard the heavy door of the basement slam behind them.

After a few moments of silence, Goliathus yelled out, releasing built up frustration. He wanted water, he wanted food, more then anything he just wanted to be let out of this horrid place.

Much to his dismay, the torture began anew the very next day. But something had changed in Goliathus, starting just then. He now glared at them with the same amount of hatred as they came near. Moren looked surprised and slightly alarmed, but it didn't seem to sway his love of performing tortures. John, however, looked much more apprehensive. He began to watch more then get involved anymore.

If Goliathus thought the tortures could not get any worse, he was wrong. Today Moren had dragged in a bag of heavy stones. Without saying much, he took a large knife and cut open the creature's middle. Goliathus howled but what was the use...then Moren stuffed as many stones as he could inside, then sewed it right back up. With John's help, he then positioned Goliathus so that he hung higher up on the wall, tilted forward. The pressure of the stones from this angle caused the stitches to begin to split, and the rocks slowly fell out, one by one.

The heradus could do nothing but wail in agony.

It went on for a year. Goliathus' heart began to harden like stone, then like metal...impenatrable. He no longer howled in pain from the tortures. In fact he simply stared at these 23 men who tortured him, taking turns it seemed along with Moren and John, and grew more and more filled with utter hate. Now humans were nothing to him. They were cruel and malicious. Perhaps Maniel and Annabelle had been different, and even May, sweet little May, but now he realized that most humans in general must be mean spirited beings. They seemed to enjoy the suffering of others. They could label anything they wanted a "demon", even another human, and justify torture because of that. He remembered what happened to his beloved mother...how they had burned her alive at the stake. How she cried in agony, how once he thought he actually heard her call out his name...

And Maniel. Where was Maniel? Why had he not come to rescue him? Did he not care? Did he not have plans for him, to go and help fight vampires as he had been told he would do? Now he saw no reason to do this anymore, anyhow. For why would he want to help the humans and kill the vampires that slaughtered them...when this was what he got, just for being what he was? It didn't make much sense, it never did. Goliathus truly began to question his miserable existance. He wasn't sure why he was here anymore. But one thing was for sure...he was going to kill each and every one of his captors the day that chance came, if it ever did. And he would forever hate and despise humans.

Yes...of that he was sure.

Day 365 finally brought an end to it all. The Bishop had grown increasingly alarmed at Goliathus being so calm , staring at them all with cold eyes, and even Moren had seemed to grow bored with the torture as his victim just would not scream anymore.

And so, all agreed they should "finish off" the "demon" , and consume it by fire. They would burn him at the stake just like his mother, and send him back to the hell they thought he came from.

Goliathus knew as they led him to the stake that this would be the most intense pain he had ever felt. And he also knew that it would be his one chance at escape. He would feign death, for he knew he could not die, and when they all left to what they thought was his demise, he would then have his revenge.

The heradus kept a stoic face and made no sound as they tied him to the stake and surrounded him with dried hay and other grasses. The people around him were shouting things like "Monster!" and "Horrid ugly demon, burn it, send it back to hell!"", and even cursing his long dead mother for his existance. He made no reaction, tuned them out.

At last, one came and threw a torch, then others followed suit. Goliathus could not even admit to himself that he was scared, but truly he was, for he knew this would be intense agony. He closed his eyes and tried to black it all out, but there was no ignoring the searing heat that came around him and he could literally feel his blood start to boil. As he had done during his last weeks of torture, he forced himself not to scream. But as the fire started to cook him alive and flesh started to fall off his bones, he could not help but scream. In fact, he screamed so loud it was truly frightening, and some of the people backed off in alarm. Eventually, the fire destroyed his voice box and no more sound escaped from his open mouth.

Some of his flesh would not burn, but Goliathus actually began to wonder if he truly would die. In some ways, he hoped he would. He could not take it any more. The pain and heat was so intense it was overwhelming. His body tried to help and he would black out, but he would awake again moments later. He tried calling out once more for Annabelle, but again no sound came. For some reason he thought of May then, and with sight that still somehow remained, he looked for May. He did not see her at first...then noticed she was in the background, holding close to the Bishop as if she could not watch, but did anyhow. Goliathus sought something from her. He wanted comfort in some form, no matter how small. Desperately he tried to read her thoughts, even if they made no sense and he could only hear her voice in his head.

He did hear something, not so much words as feelings. He knew she was horrified at what she saw. He knew she was sad for him. He thought of her kind acts, and vowed that women would not be part of his revenge. Though his heart had turned black and cold, there was one small part that would never forget the kindness she had given him. A part that would never forget a woman's gentle touch.

A part like Annabelle...

He blacked out, this time for a long while.

When the heradus awoke, he was on the ground. Choking smoke and the smell of burned wood filled his nose, along with the smell of charred flesh, flesh he knew was his own. He opened his eyes and looked around. The dried grasses had all turned to ash, as had the stake he had been tied to. It had rained during the night, and the air was chilly and damp.

Water?

Goliathus longed greatly for water. He tried to move and felt, as well as heard, a tearing sensation as his skin ripped apart. It was so dried and charred that it was tightly stretched over his whole body. He moaned in pain as his abdomen had split an inch or so where Moren had roughly stitched him back together.

The creature's body was so wrecked that he could barely find the strength to move. For once his hunger had quieted to a mere whisper of a sensation, as if it had given up altogether, but this was no relief from his agony. For a moment he simply wanted to just give up and hope he would die. But then he remembered he would not, and even more so, if the humans found him still alive, they would probably bring him back to be tortured again!

Again the thought of water entered his brain. How he thirsted...ignoring the pain best as he could, he stretched one arm out in front of the other and forced himself to move. Even as the skin on his arms began to tear, his kept moving, until finally he found what he was looking for, a puddle of rainwater. Without hesitation he leaned over and drank water until he thought he would burst. The effect was almost instant. His skin hydrated, becoming less taught. The wound started to bleed his strange black blood at the returned moisture to his body. He felt just a tad bit stronger. Truly, his healing ability was staggering, even to himself. Just water had done this.

But along with returned strength, no matter how small, came intense hunger. It quickly went from a tiny whisper to a raging roar, demanding to be fed. And that was precisely what Goliathus was going to do...he slowly moved, getting to his feet. His newly hydrated skin did not split, and so he found it easier to move. Parts of him were still charred, but at least they responded.

Carefully looking around, the Heradus saw no one. It was early morning, that he knew, and most were probably still sleeping. Scents of cooking food over fireplaces told him that most were making their breakfast in their homes. Continuing to use his all powerful nose, he strained to gain a scent he wanted to find. First and foremost...he wanted Moren.

It didn't take long. Since Goliathus could smell someone miles away, he had only to walk along the outskirts of the village until he found the scent which led him to the right house. It was larger then most, a smooth stoned structure with wooden windows and a large door. Up above there were more windows on a second floor. One was open. Using his talons and sharp nailed hands, Goliathus easily scaled the wall until he reached the window, and crept inside.

He came face to face with a little girl, no more then four years old.

Her deep green eyes widened in utter shock, a mixture of a lot of fear and a little fascination.

Goliathus stared at her. If she screamed, for certain her father would be alerted and perhaps his plan foiled. The girl had seemed to have just gotten off her bed and was probably heading down to breakfast. She had frozen in her spot, staring at him. Goliathus felt such intense hunger, and part of him contemplated eating her. He bared his teeth, she gasped and stepped back. Growling, he slowly approached. The little girl grew terrified and tears streamed down her face, though she did not scream...it seemed she was too frightened.

He caught the strong, acrid scent of urine as she wet herself, and her legs gave out as she slumped to the floor. An immediate sense of pity slammed Goliathus into hesitation. The little female human had done nothing to him...and this was a girl...he had vowed not to harm them best he could. And so he would try. Quickly, he made his way past her and crept down the stairway, leaving the terrified child staring after him, unable to move.

Moren's scent was more intoxicating anyhow. _That_ was what he wanted. He found the man sitting at the table, with the wife in the adjacent room, waiting for his breakfast. He seemed to be reading some kind of parchment, probably the daily news of the town. Carefully, Goliathus did his best to stay hidden until the time was right, creeping into shadowed corners. The wife, after several moments, left out a side door to get eggs from the chickens. This was the perfect time.

In a snarling leap, Goliathus landed upon Moren, knocking him down with a huge crash. Moren screamed when he saw his attacker, his eyes widened in disbelief. The woman came running back in at the sound, but Goliathus had already left, dragging Moren along.

When they got out the door, he ran. He tried to fly, but his wings seemed glued to his body and would not move. So he kept running, until he got into the woods just past the village. He searched for a good hiding place, and found one in the form of a small cave. It smelled of animals, probably bears, who had used it during hibernation. But it was springtime and there would be no hibernating animals for the time being.

Moren flailed and struggled, and it was useless, even against a greatly weakened Goliathus. Moren did manage to push him away a few times, but the heradus would snarl and leap upon him once more.

"You, you cannot be alive! We watched you burn, BURN!"

Huh, indeed. He had burned all right, and now was the time for revenge.

Goliathus wanted to do so many horrible things in retaliation to the man, but the hunger was driving him to madness. There was one thing he _had_ to do before he killed him, however...he searched the man's pockets, hoping to find what he sought after. And he did.

Since Moren had such a sick and twisted fascination with needles, he wasn't at all surprised to find some in his pockets. Two to be exact. Perfect. Without much further thought, he jammed one needle into each of the man's eyes, and simply watched him scream and writhe in agony for a time.

When he couldn't wait not one second longer, Goliathus gave into his hunger and leapt upon the man like a starving lion. Using his taloned feet he tore open his midsection and devoured each of his organs with a great pleasure he knew was wrong. Then he ate until there was nothing but a pile of bloody bones.

Wasting no time, he then set out to find the others.

All 23 men were found, killed, and eaten, even the Bishop. This one had pleaded, begging for forgiveness, but since Goliathus had received no mercy, he too learned to be merciless. The pleading was simply ignored.

Now gorged on all of them, his body began healing quite rapidly. Parts he had eaten replaced others, while flesh simply excellerated the healing process.

Goliathus turned the cave into his home for the time being. And for a time he just sat in there, contemplated. He had had his revenge. It was over. Perhaps he would simply live here in isolation, making some sort of life for himself. He could decorate the cave to his whims, since he had such an incredible talent with art.

But then...that night as he slept deeply for the first time in ages...he began to hear a strange voice in his head. It was an eerie, dark voice that talked to him in a sweet tone that chilled him to the bone, just like it had with Moren. Only it was a thousand times worse. It kept saying he should continue to kill. To take what he wanted from those humans.

To feast.

After all...had the humans not been cruel to him?

Goliathus found he could not ignore this voice he knew was not his own, or at least was almost certain it was not. It grew worse daily. It grew louder and more chilling. It grew demanding.

It was his hunger, and even more then that, a demon of hunger. Where it had come from, he did not know. Why? It had sensed his weakness, his want for revenge. Though he knew this to some extent, he did not fully understand just what kind of trouble he was in. This horrid monstrosity would slowly consume his mind and turn him into a terrible killer to be feared by all.

Eventually, Goliathus stopped trying to resist it. After all, a lot of its reasoning was correct. The humans HAD been cruel to him. But when he did things like think of May, and small pangs of aching would sting his loins, the demon would tell him to not be "fooled", even by ones like her. In the end, it would say, even she would only see him as an ugly monster and nothing else. It was pointless.

It was useless.

Just devour them all.

The first thing that Goliathus did was try to reason with the being. He went and killed the relatives he could find to those 23 men, and thought for sure his revenge was completed then. But the demon thought otherwise, and insisted he take his revenge on all of mankind. Why should he stop?

Slowly, over several days, Goliathus grew from just hatred to true evil. His heart blackened fully, there was no compassion or any positive feelings left, except what tiny pangs perhaps the demon could not find , or thought insignificant, and so ignored. Still, what he became was then a true monster. A killing machine. Existing only to feed his hunger, to satisfy. He knew he was unstoppable, so the thrill increased with every kill. It became a twisted pleasure, a sense of power...he could now do what he wanted and no one could stop him. His art became dark and gothic, expressing his inner self. Always it was about hunting, killing, eating.

Then somewhere around day 23, Goliathus was sitting in his cave, planning his next attack, when he grew tired. Very tired. The demon quieted as if it had gone into a slumber itself. The fatigue grew. His body became sluggish, his energy was lost. A curse was forming. Eating humans was highly forbidden, and now a punishment would ensue. He did not know it, but for however many humans he killed the first time, the curse would set itself for that number of years. Finally, he could resist no longer, and lay down, curling his wings around him, and closing his eyes.

He was in for a long sleep.

When he awoke, the air smelled different, this he knew right away. The cave was even different, having more moss on the walls and even some cobwebs that he'd not noticed before. What alarmed him most was his own condition. His body had shriveled to practically nothing but skin and bones. For a brief moment, Goliathus was his old self...confused and unsure of what was going on. Then, the voice came pounding into his head. The hunger came on like a rolling wave, sending intense pain through his body.

It was time to get up.

Time to feed.

And so that's what he did. The people of the village, he realized, had many new members, new scents. There were small changes everywhere, and eventually the heradus realized that much time had passed. He wasn't sure how much time, but in truth it didn't matter. All he cared about was his next kill. Each cycle continued, 23 days awake, 23 years in hibernation. And each time the killing went on, relentless and without mercy. After many cycles, Goliathus broke his promise to himself, taking the occasional woman. It seemed that he would take them more out of need to satisfy that same strange sensation in his loins that he'd get when looking at them...but instead he just ended up eating them like all the rest. Still, they were few and far between. What he really wanted...were the men.

Even children were not spared his wrath. His victims got younger and younger. For some reason they were never under the age of 10...perhaps memories of that four year old girl made him hesitate...but even their innocence did not bring mercy from his heart.

Occassionally a victim would make the heradus wonder. In the recent past, Goliathus pursued two young adults who had something he wanted. They were Darius and Patricia Jenner, a couple of unfortunates to become the latest possible victims. In short, after a rather unusual amount of difficulty, he manged to capture Darius, after deciding it was _him_ that had something he wanted. Trish, however, did all she could to plead with him. Her tears made him stop in his tracks, to stare back at her in hesitation. Was it some small amount of compassion that still existed somewhere in his shriveled black heart? One couldn't be sure. In the end, she was ignored, and Darry taken.

For his eyes.

The famous "bus incident" was the last 23 day cycle of horror that would exist. On day 23 of that time, a very brave farmer by the name of Jack Taggart fought back (Goliathus had taken his young son Billy), and got his revenge, impaling the heradus with a home-made spear. He managed to get him down several times, and finally stabbed him over 40 times in the very last moments, after an intense car chase where he had lost a wing, arm, and leg. Then the sleep set in, for time was up.

The Taggarts took the body and hung it in their barn, where they allowed curious people to see it. Whether or not people believed the story, it didn't matter to them. Jack kept a close watch for when the end of the next 23 years came.

So did someone else.

What they don't tell you is that next door existed a small five year old girl who was a friend to Jack Jr.'s kids, Tally and Kirsten. Her name was Ami, and she visited the barn nearly every day not just to play with her friends but to see the bizarre creature hanging up on the barn. As Ami tells us, she felt pity for it, even then. She talked to it daily, even if she had little to talk about. She wondered about what it was.

During the time she spoke to Goliathus, he heard her, somewhere in his unconscious mind. Ami couldn't know this, but she continued to talk to him anyhow. As she got older, she wondered more and more about the being, especially as she learned more facts from Jezelle, the psychic who had tried to warn Trish and Darry in Poho County. Plans started to form in her head on ways to "help" the creature, but she got little support from anyone towards the idea.

Still, Ami continued to be fascinated with the creature. She began drawing sketchbooks filled with his image, both as she saw him and as how she figured he may have looked like beforehand. (All she ever saw then was his withered state.) She even crafted a pendant in metal shop that looked like him. Some people were a bit put off by her curiosity, but her longtime school friend Julie and even Jezelle were always supporting her. For after all, if you can't beat it, and you can't join it...then maybe you can only help it.

When next Goliathus awoke, he was in a strange place. All around him were concrete walls, what looked like very thick iron bars for the door, and an odd, triangle shaped glass window on the top. However, this room was huge. It had room to spare, and several ledges...one looked like it had a resting area, and even one seemed like someplace for art because it had an easel and supplies.

Where the hell was he?

The first and only reaction the heradus could have was to be alarmed, because it seemed a bit like a prison, and a place where he was trapped. Frantically he tried to get out, yelling in anger and clawing at anything he could, as well as breaking anything he could...but he soon found there was indeed no way out of here. The bars, he realized, were not iron but some other kind of very strong metal. No matter how hard he tried to bend them, they simply would not budge.

He was in a weak state, anyhow...the 40 some stab wounds he suffered at the hands of Jack Taggart were all leaking black blood. He was withered once more like a dried banana peel, but this he was used to, as this happened every time he went into hibernation. Of course the number one thing on his mind was to eat.

However, he was trapped, where would he go? Again, more yells filled the room.

The building was simply coined the "Facility". The room, the "Atrium". Ami was the owner, at almost 19 years of age. She had become wealthy thanks to deceased relatives, and so had decided to build this place after those many years observing the creature in the barn. Her friend Julie joined her as an assistant, and other people sworn to secrecy where also in on the project. Some were scientists. Some medical professionals. As was Ami, others still were psychiatrists...

The goal? To try and "break" this creature, get it out of its evil habits. Most thought Ami was crazy...but no one could know, even then, just how successful her ideas would be.

Still, no one said it was going to be easy.

The first hurtle was trying to figure out what to feed the creature. It certainly couldn't have humans on the menu. They soon found that cold, packaged meats were not only huffed at, but thrown across the room in a rage. Even when taken out of the packages and slightly warmed, still they were rejected. But perhaps it was more defiance then anything else. The crew members used threats of no food at all if the attitude continued, but Goliathus would only snarl and stare at them with ice cold eyes.

Ami realized early on that a different approach was needed. She refused to allow this to continue. Her first order of business was to fight anger and hatred with kindness. This shocked the heradus from the beginning. Her first attempts were ignored, but he would stare and stare at her.

Ami eventually ordered that animals be freshly butchered on the premises and served to him in that way.

Though it took him a while, he finally stopped resisting and ate this offering. The healing began, and rapidly he came back to full strength. But still, the Atrium held him, it had been well crafted indeed.

Even with the accepted new diet, the creature would howl daily, and burst into fits of rage, trying to escape. Ami would sit at a table a safe distance from the bars, and just talk to him, or sometimes say nothing at all and wait till his "temper tantrum" ended. For six long weeks this went on, until finally the violent episodes ended.

They became replaced with despondence...long periods of silence and what seemed like depression.

But eventually, things would change dramatically...

/

End.


End file.
